In a country where transparency is often promised but rarely delivered, the case of President Joko Widodo’s diploma has become a masterclass in political theatre. The document in question—supposedly issued by Gadjah Mada University—has never been publicly displayed in full, nor subjected to independent verification. Instead, it has been shown selectively to loyalists and a few journalists under conditions that resemble a Cold War intelligence briefing: no cameras, no copies, no questions.Yet, despite this opacity, the police have confidently named eight individuals as suspects, accusing them of defamation and digital manipulation. The irony is palpable. How can one be charged with falsifying something that has never been transparently confirmed? It’s as if the state is prosecuting people for doubting a ghost—an invisible credential that floats above scrutiny.Adding to the absurdity is the President’s own moment of confusion when asked about “Salam UGM,” the university’s signature greeting. His hesitation, caught on camera, has become a meme-worthy moment, prompting netizens to ask: “If you really graduated from Hogwarts, wouldn’t you know the school’s spell?”The satire writes itself. We are witnessing a courtroom drama where the evidence is sacred, the critics are criminalised, and the protagonist forgets his alma mater’s password. It’s Kafka meets TikTok, with a dash of Orwellian flair.Eight individuals have been named as suspects in the case involving allegations of President Joko Widodo’s diploma, with critics highlighting procedural oddities and raising eyebrows at the uncanny foresight of the President’s legal team.According to official statements from the Jakarta Metropolitan Police, the suspects are divided into two clusters. Among the most prominent names are Roy Suryo, a former Minister of Youth and Sports; Dr Tifauziah Tyassuma, known as Dr Tifa, a vocal public health commentator; and Rismon Hasiholan Sianipar, a digital forensic analyst. The remaining five individuals have not been publicly identified in full, but are reportedly linked to the dissemination of manipulated documents and unverified claims regarding the authenticity of Jokowi’s academic records from Gadjah Mada University.What has drawn particular scrutiny is the nature of the evidence and the timing of the legal process. The police claim to have relied on 130 witness testimonies, 22 expert analyses, and over 700 pieces of digital evidence. Yet critics argue that the methods used to determine “manipulation” were not transparently disclosed, and that the threshold for criminal liability in a case involving public discourse remains dangerously vague. The fact that the suspects were accused of using “non-scientific methods” to question a public document has led some to question whether the state is policing dissent under the guise of digital integrity.Adding to the intrigue is the statement made by President Jokowi’s legal counsel days before the police announcement, in which he confidently predicted that suspects would soon be named. This has prompted speculation about the proximity between the executive and law enforcement, with some observers suggesting that the legal process may have been politically choreographed. While the President’s team insists that their confidence stemmed from the strength of the evidence and the clarity of the case, sceptics see it as a sign of preordained outcomes in a system where power and justice are increasingly intertwined.For RRT (Roy, Rismon and Tifa), making them suspects was no hindrance; on the contrary, it resembled a war. And for both parties, the anticipation, the waiting, the not knowing — these were the hardest parts, echoing the sentiments that Daniel Abraham is often credited with expressing: “Waiting for a battle was the hardest part. Unless you got a dagger in your gut during the battle. Then that was hardest. Or you got through just fine and saw your men dead around you. Then that was.” The psychological weight of being on the edge of uncertainty mirrors the words of Ernie Pyle, who chronicled the Second World War with brutal honesty, remarking simply, “Anticipation is the worst.”In modern fiction, Elliot Ackerman reinforces the same notion in Waiting for Eden, stating that the liminal space before action — “the not knowing, the uncertainty, the fear” — can haunt soldiers more than the combat itself. Even the poets of the First World War, like Wilfred Owen in Exposure, understood the cruel patience of waiting, penning lines such as, “But nothing happens,” capturing the oppressive suspension of time that corrodes the nerves. Meanwhile, Erich Maria Remarque’s All Quiet on the Western Front portrays the silent, stretched hours before battle as a slow attrition of spirit, when soldiers wait for morning, for orders, and for a moment that may never arrive.Through these voices, whether historical, poetic, or fictional, the lesson is unmistakable: it is not merely the act of conflict itself that tests humanity, but the void before it, the stretch of uncertainty where dread festers, imagination runs wild, and courage is quietly forged. In RRT’s case, turning people into suspects becomes a theatre of psychological tension as real and exacting as any battlefield.
Oddly enough, the MUI Chairman joined the commentary. Suddenly, he’s weighing in on the police’s move to charge RRT, as if the moral compass of the nation depends solely on this verdict, while the much larger scandal over the hajj quota quietly simmers in the background. Netizens have been merciless, likening him to a referee blowing his whistle at the wrong match, pointing at RRT while the real goals—corruption, mismanagement, and millions of public funds — sail past unchallenged.Some even joked that this is like watching a TV drama: the latest episode is filled with tension and theatrics, but the real storyline—the missing hajj money—is reduced to background noise. “If the hajj quota scandal were a movie, MUI is busy filming the trailer about RRT,” one witty user wrote in all caps, clearly not holding back. In short, online observers conclude that in this bizarre theatre, RRT can be a headline-grabbing suspect, while systemic corruption remains on a free stroll, and transparency is just a decorative prop in the scene.
[Part 3]Several critics have expressed concern following the police’s decision to name multiple individuals as suspects in the case involving allegations of President Joko Widodo’s academic credentials. While the police maintain that the investigation was conducted thoroughly—with expert testimony, digital forensic analysis, and confirmation from Gadjah Mada University that the President’s diploma is authentic—many observers argue that the legal response may have broader implications for freedom of expression.Some legal scholars and civil society advocates have questioned whether the use of criminal charges in this context risks silencing public scrutiny, especially when directed at elected officials. They argue that while misinformation should be addressed, the threshold for criminalisation must be carefully considered to avoid chilling effects on democratic discourse. The inclusion of public figures such as Roy Suryo among the suspects has further intensified debate, with some suggesting that the case reflects a growing tension between digital activism and state authority.In contrast, the police have defended their actions, stating that the suspects disseminated manipulated documents and made unfounded claims that could damage reputations and public trust. They emphasise that the investigation was not politically motivated but based on evidence and expert analysis. Nonetheless, critics continue to urge caution, warning that the line between defamation and dissent must not be blurred in a democratic society.Transparency and criticism function as twin pillars because they complement each other in sustaining a healthy, accountable, and responsive governance system. Transparency alone is like opening the windows of a room—it allows light to enter and exposes what is inside, but without criticism, that light may not be used to challenge, improve, or correct what is visible. Criticism, on the other hand, is the active response to transparency; it scrutinises policies, decisions, and actions, pushing institutions to justify, reform, or adjust their conduct. Together, transparency provides the information that makes informed criticism possible, and criticism ensures that transparency leads to real accountability rather than remaining a symbolic gesture. In essence, without transparency, criticism is blind, and without criticism, transparency risks becoming mere decoration—both are indispensable for governance that earns public trust and functions effectively.
In Information, Democracy, and Autocracy: Economic Transparency and Political (In)Stability by James R. Hollyer, B. Peter Rosendorff, and James Raymond Vreeland (Cambridge University Press, 2021) suggested that democracies tend to make economic data more accessible than autocracies because the fundamental logic of democratic governance creates strong incentives for transparency. In a democracy, leaders are accountable to the electorate: their continuation in office depends on the public’s perception of their performance. Citizens need credible information to judge whether incumbents are governing effectively, and elections serve as a mechanism of accountability. Therefore, publishing economic data becomes a strategic necessity: it allows the government to demonstrate competence, justify policy decisions, and gain trust.By contrast, autocratic leaders are not primarily accountable to a broad electorate. Their survival depends more on controlling elites, patronage networks, or coercive institutions than on mass approval. Excessive disclosure could reveal policy failures or economic vulnerabilities that might empower rivals, foment dissent, or invite international pressure. As a result, autocracies often deliberately withhold, manipulate, or obscure economic information to protect regime stability.The difference arises from the alignment of incentives: in democracies, transparency is a tool to secure legitimacy and political survival through informed consent, while in autocracies, secrecy is a tool to consolidate control and reduce challenges from potential opponents. The book argues that this structural distinction explains why democracies systematically produce more accessible and reliable economic data than autocracies.The authors argue that a higher level of information‑disclosure—in the sense of publicly available economic data—plays a crucial role in strengthening both the legitimacy and the durability of democratic governments.The authors begin by defining transparency not in vague normative terms but more precisely as the dissemination of credible aggregate economic data, such that citizens (and external actors) can observe how the economy is performing as well as infer how well the government is doing. In a democracy, where the government’s survival depends on elections and the approval of a broad public, this kind of transparency reduces information asymmetries: voters can more readily distinguish between good and bad performance, and policymakers know they are being watched. Because transparency allows voters to make better‑informed decisions, officials are under stronger incentives to perform credibly, and the threat of electoral sanction becomes more meaningful. As a result, democratic governments that publish more economic data tend to be more resilient: they attract investment (which helps economic outcomes) and they reduce the likelihood of breakdown from public discontent. Moreover, transparency bolsters legitimacy: when citizens believe they have genuine information about how their government is doing and trust that data are not simply concealed, they are more likely to accept the outcome of elections, engage peacefully and view the system as accountable. This acceptance in turn reduces the political stress that arises from uncertainty, which otherwise might undermine democratic stability.Because democratic governments operate in a context of open choice and competitive accountability, information disclosure helps ensure that the accountability mechanisms (elections, public scrutiny) function properly. In the authors’ words, democracies “make economic data more available than do similarly developed autocracies”, and this openness “makes democracies more resilient to breakdown.” Thus, the correlation is that when transparency is high in a democracy, legitimacy is enhanced, and the government is more likely to endure.In Indonesia, when talking about accountability and transparency in Democracy, there is no single law titled specifically “Law on Accountability.” Instead, accountability functions as a fundamental principle embedded across several laws that govern public administration, state financial management, and public service. Laws such as the State Finance Law of 2003, the State Treasury Law of 2004, and the Law on the Examination of State Financial Management of 2004 establish the legal framework for responsible management of public funds and ensure that government officials are answerable to both the parliament and the public. Moreover, the Public Information Disclosure Law of 2008 enhances government accountability by mandating transparency, allowing citizens to access information and monitor state activities. The 2014 Law on Government Administration further reinforces the expectation that public officials must act responsibly and can be held accountable for their decisions and actions. In practice, accountability in Indonesia is thus not confined to a single statute but is a recurring theme in laws that aim to guarantee responsible governance, financial integrity, and openness in public service.The Indonesian Public Information Disclosure Law (UU 14/2008) serves as a formal legal framework to institutionalise transparency within the country. By establishing the public’s right to access government-held information, the law transforms transparency from an abstract principle into a tangible, enforceable practice. Citizens are empowered to request information regarding policies, budgets, and decision-making processes, while public bodies are obliged to proactively provide accurate and timely data. This legal obligation reduces secrecy and arbitrary control over information, fostering accountability and making it possible for citizens to scrutinise and influence government actions. Essentially, UU 14/2008 operationalises the concept of transparency, ensuring that governmental power is exercised in a way that can be observed, questioned, and trusted by the public.
The Act begins by establishing in its preamble that information is a basic human need and that the right to obtain public information is among the fundamental rights recognised under the Indonesian constitution (Articles 28 F and 28 J of the 1945 Constitution). This constitutional grounding lends the Act a powerful normative status: not only must the state permit access to information, but it is obligated to facilitate it as part of good governance.
Key provisions include:
- Article 7 obliges every Public Body (“Badan Publik”) to provide, furnish or publish public information under its authority, alongside the duty to ensure that information is accurate, true and not misleading. The body must also build and develop an information and documentation system so that its public information is easily accessible.
- Article 11 sets out the types of information that must be made available at all times. These include: a list of all public information under its control (excluding exempted information), results of decisions and their considerations, policies and supporting documents, work plans including budget estimates, agreements of the public body with third parties, statements of public officials in public meetings, procedures relating to public services, and reports on the service of information access.
- Article 14 stipulates the obligation for State‑Owned Enterprises (SOEs) or regionally‑owned enterprises to disclose corporate governance data: names of shareholders, boards of directors, audited annual reports, remuneration, governance mechanisms, legal cases, internal governance policies, etc.
- The Act also provides for information exclusions, mechanisms for requests and appeals, the establishment of the Komisi Informasi (Information Commission) to resolve disputes, and even criminal sanctions for violations in certain cases.
The implications of these legal provisions are several‑fold. First, they shift information from being a privilege held by state actors into a right held by citizens, thereby rebalancing power. Second, they raise institutional expectations: public bodies must organise their information systems, adopt transparency routines, and respond to information requests. Third, they raise the cost of opacity: if a body fails to publish required data or deals unfairly with requests, it may face administrative sanctions, reputational damage or judicial challenge. Fourth, the corporate governance requirements for SOEs create overlap between commercial accountability and public‑service transparency, thereby exposing entities that straddle private and public spheres. Finally, the presence of sanctions and dispute‑resolution mechanisms means transparency is not purely voluntary—it becomes enforceable, albeit imperfectly.However, in practice, the implementation remains inconsistent. While the law lays out strong architecture for transparency, many public bodies struggle to build accessible systems, locate documentation, manage exemptions appropriately or embed a culture of openness. The gap between legal mandate and everyday practice means that transparency continues to be more aspirational than realised in many places.Indonesia, despite being a constitutional democracy that formally embraces openness, struggles with structural and cultural obstacles in governance due to a combination of historical legacies, institutional weaknesses, and socio-political dynamics. Historically, decades of authoritarian rule under the New Order regime instilled a bureaucratic culture that prioritised hierarchy, secrecy, and top-down decision-making. This legacy persists in many government offices, where deference to authority and fear of making mistakes often discourage full disclosure of information.Structurally, the public administration system is fragmented. Information about policies, budgets, procurement, and public programs is scattered across multiple institutions, agencies, and regional offices, which makes coordinated transparency difficult. Many agencies lack the technical capacity, resources, or standardised information systems to provide timely and accurate access to data. In addition, legal mechanisms like the Public Information Disclosure Law (UU 14/2008) exist, but enforcement varies widely, and oversight bodies such as the Komisi Informasi do not always have the power or reach to compel compliance effectively.Culturally, Indonesia’s social norms still value hierarchy, relational networks, and patronage systems. Officials may fear public scrutiny, criticism, or political backlash if they fully disclose information. Citizens themselves often have limited digital literacy, making it harder to access, interpret, or use the information that is available. Political interests and partisan pressures further complicate matters, as transparency may reveal inconvenient truths or threaten entrenched networks.In combination, these structural and cultural factors create a situation where transparency exists in law but is inconsistent in practice. Government actions may appear opaque, selective, or performative, rather than genuinely open, making citizen oversight and participatory governance more difficult.One of the key reasons why public information in Indonesia frequently resembles a puzzle spilt across the floor is the fragmentation of data and portals across multiple agencies, levels of government and formats—a phenomenon documented in a policy study published by the Open Contracting Partnership in 2022. According to that study, while Indonesia has made advances in e‑procurement and digitisation, the architecture of disclosure was not designed with external oversight in mind and thus resulted in information being dispersed “across numerous portals and formats”. This dispersion means that a citizen seeking relevant records must locate several different websites, navigate inconsistent metadata or formats, and often piece together partial fragments of data to form a coherent picture. The practical implication is that openness, though legally mandated, becomes effectively opaque to non‑specialist users, thus undermining the democratic purpose of transparency.Case example of Infrastructure procurement data gaps in Indonesia: The Open Contracting Partnership report Infrastructure procurement risks: What data‑led analysis reveals in Indonesia (2022) highlights that a large number of infrastructure tender notices lacked sufficient detail (e.g., about 70 % of notices had less than 240 characters in description) and that cancelled tenders (~20 %) were not recorded with reasons or subcontractor details. The report points out that Indonesia’s procurement data remains “very fragmented across numerous portals and formats” because the system was designed for internal management rather than public oversight.This example shows how, even when data is “out there”, it can be so scattered and inconsistent that the public effectively cannot assemble a coherent view of the process.Case of local government transparency in procurement: Bima City. The article “Peering Through the Digital Window: Assessing Online Disclosure of the Public Procurement Data in Bima City” (Journal of Governance & Local Politics, 2023) found that the official website of the Bima City Government’s e‑procurement portal did not provide ideal data accessibility or completeness, due to constraints such as budget limitations, staff capacity, and political leadership commitment. This local‐level case confirms that fragmentation is not just about national systems but also about local governance, where even a digital portal exists, but the data is patchy or the interface is weak.The UU KIP, or Undang-Undang Keterbukaan Informasi Publik (Public Information Disclosure Act), is a law enacted in Indonesia in 2008 to ensure that the public has the right to access information held by government institutions. Its main purpose is to promote transparency, accountability, and participation in governance, allowing citizens to monitor public policies, decisions, and expenditures. By mandating that government bodies provide timely and accurate information, the law seeks to reduce corruption, improve public trust, and strengthen democratic practices in Indonesia. Essentially, UU KIP turns information from a guarded secret into a public resource that citizens can use to make informed decisions and hold authorities accountable.The intention behind UU KIP is undeniably noble: it aims to empower citizens by giving them access to government information, foster transparency, and reduce corruption. It’s designed to create a more participatory democracy where the public can hold officials accountable. However, in practice, its implementation often falls short. Some government offices are slow to respond, reluctant to share certain documents, or lack proper systems to manage and deliver information. Bureaucratic red tape, limited resources, and sometimes a culture of secrecy can make access spotty. So, while the law is like a bright beacon of hope on paper, the actual experience can feel inconsistent—like a mobile phone signal that drops just when you need it most.Indonesia’s democratic aspirations are deeply rooted in its post-Suharto transition, when the country moved from authoritarianism toward a system that constitutionally embraces openness, public participation, and checks on power. The 1945 Constitution, along with reforms such as the Law on Public Information (UU 14/2008), reflects a commitment to transparency, accountability, and the protection of citizens’ rights to access government information. In theory, these legal frameworks empower the public to scrutinise and influence government actions, nurturing trust and legitimacy in the democratic process.Yet, despite these institutional guarantees, Indonesia continues to wrestle with structural and cultural obstacles that cloud visibility in governance. Structurally, bureaucratic complexity, fragmented authority across multiple agencies, and inconsistent enforcement of information laws create “black boxes” where information is delayed, incomplete, or obscured. For instance, public institutions may invoke exemptions under UU 14/2008 for reasons of national security, commercial confidentiality, or internal deliberations, but such exemptions can be overused or misapplied, limiting meaningful citizen oversight.Culturally, hierarchies, patronage networks, and a historically embedded preference for discretion over openness hinder transparency. Many officials still perceive openness as a potential threat to authority or reputation, leading to selective disclosure. Social norms around deference, face-saving, and avoiding public conflict further reduce the willingness of bureaucrats to proactively share information. Even when citizens demand accountability, the mechanisms for redress can be slow, opaque, or intimidating, perpetuating a gap between constitutional ideals and practical reality.Indonesia’s democratic aspirations are aspirational and institutionally supported, but visibility in governance remains clouded because legal frameworks collide with entrenched structural inertia and cultural habits that favour opacity. Democracy in Indonesia, therefore, is a work in progress: the rules for openness exist on paper, yet fully realising them requires persistent reforms, cultural shifts, and civic engagement to translate the promise of transparency into everyday governmental practice.
[Part 1]
